


more than i thought i did

by quartzfia



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: (but you knew that already), (dream mainly), (yeah that's george's thing), Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Dream Makes a Stan Account, Hand & Finger Kink, Internal Conflict, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Miscommunication, Sexual Tension, Sexuality Crisis, Size Difference, Size Kink, Temperature Imagery, dream discovers fan works and has a crisis about everything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-18 13:27:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29490567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartzfia/pseuds/quartzfia
Summary: He’d known George was small, he was very open about the fact in his teases and chides, but he’d never fully let himself understand their proportions, as the ocean between them was not moving any time soon, so it didn’t seem to matter. Now he was faced with the fact that George was really small.Some deep, guttural part of him seemed to like it, too.-Or, in which Dream lets himself indulge in fan works and realizes a few too many things about both himself and his best friend during his fall.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 64
Kudos: 492





	1. music notes

**Author's Note:**

> dedicated to nico <3
> 
> \+ chrissy, my unofficially beta-reader
> 
> love you <333

It was a dono, a stupid fucking dono that got him into a heaping mess.

“Hey George! I was wondering why all your clothes look super oversized, like, why so big?”

The words hummed through the blonde’s headset as a smirk pulled at his mouth. 

Dream really did love moments like these, with either the brunette or Sapnap streaming while he listened idly and scrolled through twitter. He’d grown used to occasional screams and yelps, the odd dono here and there he could snort and cringe at without repercussions, but all in all, he truly loved the tranquility. His eyes glanced back up at the monitor in front of him, fixating on George’s face as he let out a soft laugh, and tried to answer.

“I just prefer it! I don’t really-”

“-It’s because he’s small,” Dream piped in, breaking his silence. George’s eyes rolled at the comment before scoffing and drumming one of his hands against the wood of his desk.

“Oh, so  _ now _ Dream wants in on the conversation.”

“He’s very, what did I say to Sapnap?  _ Petite!  _ You’re very petite,” The blonde laughed, moving his leg and nudging a soft ball of fluff curled by his chair. Patches moved her front paws to bat at his ankle.

“You’re not even that much taller than me!” The brunette whined, crossing his arms and glancing at chat which was already whizzing by with a sea of “dnf!!11!!!” and “CLIP IT”.

“You’re like what? 4’9-”

“ _ Hey _ -”

“Okay, 5’9, that's a whole six inches shorter, and Sapnap says I’m probably taller than 6’3 anyways,” Dream rambled off again, smile growing wider than would’ve been considered normal for the context. He heard a small snort through his headset and saw the brunette covering his face with one hand covering a dopey grin.

“Six inches, Dream?”

It took a few seconds for the joke to register, before he felt his face heat up immensely and wheeze out a laugh. It was times like those he truly valued not using facecam ever for streaming and rarely with his friends.

“Shut the hell up! What is wrong with you, George?”

Their laughter melded together from across an ocean, while Dream’s mind was stuck replaying the image of the brunette covering his mouth with a hoodie sleeve, giggles seeping over. His goal was to make George laugh anytime he could, just to see or hear a sliver of a smile. The warmth that bloomed in his chest when he succeeded was worth every second of embarrassment. It superseded any negative emotion he could possibly feel; Anything was worth that moment.

“It’s not my fault I’m bigger than you,” He got through wheezes, only procuring a harder laugh at the insinuation. His head felt light and dizzy as he tried to maintain breathing.

“ _ Dream _ ! Can you go one sentence without a euphemism?” 

Giggles filled his ears again and his heart began pounding and thumping the way it always did when moments like these arose.

_ Dopamine produces adrenaline _ , is what Google had told him, meaning he would listen and not question it further.

“I didn’t even mean that one, seriously.”

“For some reason I don’t believe you.”

The blonde moved a hand to the water bottle on his desk, glass clanging lightly against the wood as he moved it to his lips, willing the pink tint under his freckles to fade. He really did revell in moments like these.

George went back to grinding out new gear on the SMP, while Dream checked his twitter timeline, already seeing clips from what happened minutes earlier.

_ -@B00H00CR4CK3R _

_ “stop shipping dnf” tell dream and george to stop dating then /hj _

_ -@enderpearlwnobrim _

_ i am suddenly extremely homophobic, get these gay mfs OUT _

A soft rumble spread through his chest as he continued to scroll, he’d grown used to the “suddenly homophobic” jokes and nods to them dating or being sus. It honestly made him enjoy it more, and push the brunette’s buttons further to see what reaction it would stir up from the community.

Oh, and George’s smile. Although, that one always placed higher on his list.

Another donation dragged him back to reality.

“George have you seen the twitter comparisons of your guys’ hands before, Dream’s are definitely bigger-”

“- _ Hah _ see, I told you,” Dream cut in, smirking again, absentmindedly glancing down at his hands, one on his thigh and the other holding his phone. Aside from the simping comments, he never thought too much about his hands. They were just hands to him, proportional to his height and body type; Nothing special.

“What ‘twitter hand comparisons’? I’m so confused,” George continued, laughing the dono off, before moving to change the subject. As he wasn’t actively participating in the stream at hand, the blonde let his mind wander.

Glancing down at his hand gripping his phone, Dream took a moment to actually try and find something unique about them. He supposed they were larger than average, but given that he was tall as shit, it wasn’t quite a shock. Vaguely he remembered tweets on his timeline thirsting over them specifically in the pictures of him in the red two hundred thousand merch hoodie, saying something about his veins. He supposed his veins were more pronounced than most, but he couldn’t say he stared at hands often enough to give an opinion.

“Hand comparisons” implied both of them, so what even  _ did _ George’s hands look like? As much as he caught himself zoning off and thinking or staring at the brunette’s other features like his soft, pale cheeks or how his shirts were always just a few sizes too big for him, or his hair that probably felt really nice to run his hands throu-

He paid  _ really _ close attention to a lot of George. Never his hands, though.

Now that he  _ was _ noticing, he saw the stark contrast in the pair's. George’s hands were thin and dainty, still long but they were delicate and pale. He could read the intricacies between each dip and curve, unlike his own he would describe as more clunky in a sense. He’d wondered how they’d look next to each other.

Dream loved to fixate on things about the brunette and dissect them in his mind, be it a habit like when he chews his bottom lip during recording sessions, or a particular freckle on his collarbone, or really anything. If there was a thread talking about a hyper-specific part of George, odds were Dream had picked apart and thoroughly investigated it weeks prior. 

He had a fondness for the Brit he knew he didn’t have with any of his other friends. George was different to him in a lot of ways, and that meant he deserved special care in their friendship and the treatment of an absolute prince on a throne. A bypass on his phone through ‘do not disturb’, extra money or gifted subs, or even just their banter was more special. It was different, it carried a different tone and value to the blonde.

Which, yes maybe  _ that _ was why ‘dnf’ had become such a constant in their community, but Dream was comfortable in himself, his sexuality, and most importantly his feelings and emotions about George.

-

Okay, so maybe he wasn’t so comfortable in himself.

It was a hesitant thought in the back of his mind as he sat in the dark of his room, surroundings only illuminated by the blue light from his phone as “dnf hands” lingered in his search bar on Twitter, itching yet anxious to hit search.

Was this crossing a line? Despite never having a conversation, the duo knew there was some sort of line between them. It was an odd and terrifying push and pull. Some days their conversations would go far past what others may see as joking or comfortable, yet others it would halt as soon as anything remotely escalating picked up. When fanart of them kissing, or hell, even just being shipped together came on their feed while together, they’d laugh, compliment the art style and talent, and move on (with the occasional ironic reply or like on @Dream__Fanart).

However, actively searching for it was never something that neither mentioned or even hinted at.

He couldn’t lie and say he hadn’t gone under the dnf fanart hashtag, but that came from pure curiosity and good intentions. A lot of fanart with both of them was tagged as ‘dnf’ despite being platonic (or could be read either way), so it made sense for him to look under it, he’d reasoned with himself.

And sure, the occasional discord call reading cringe on Wattpad had happened, both with and without Sapnap, but that came from a place of humor not intrigue.

Why was he even so worked up about this? No one else but him would know, and practically everyone in their fanbase partook in ‘dnf’ at some point in time or otherwise had the words muted.

His heart thumped rapidly against his chest, even slightly wincing when he hit search. Why the fuck was he anxious over something so dumb?

He was met with two regular tweets with the keywords he searched at the very top, but the third caught his breath in his throat.

_ -@justranb0b _

_ // dnf _

_ these hands look kinda familiar,,, _

_ [Attachment: Four Images] _

The blonde’s eyebrows knitted together as he tapped to let the post cover his whole screen. The top two pictures were of himself and George, a screenshot from the brunette’s stream earlier when he stood up and the other from his PO box unboxing video. He knew for a fact the second two weren’t his or George’s hands, but goddamn did they  _ look  _ like it.

The first of the two bottom pictures was an artistically shot picture of a delicate pale hand winding overtop a larger tan one. He hesitantly moved to see the picture full-sized, and couldn’t help it as his mind supplied other similar images flashing in his head, disappearing as fast as they came. Once again, he was grateful for the cover of night hiding the red flush covering down to his collarbones from the embarrassment of what he was doing. Perhaps there was some other reason for the flushing too, but if there was he’d move that into a box as far in the back of his mind as he could.

_ Holy shit, are his hands really that small? _

The model's hands were scarily accurate to George’s own, down to the lithe veins trailing the back. Their wrist was so tiny compared to the palm of the larger one framing it like a background. Dream’s eye line slowly scanned his own fingers gripping his phone, taking in the realization that his were  _ also _ scarily similar. 

He’d known George was small, he was very open about the fact in his teases and chides, but he’d never fully let himself understand their proportions, as the ocean between them was not moving any time soon, so it didn’t seem to matter. Now he was faced with the fact that George was  _ really _ small. Or, perhaps he was the one who was big? Maybe a combination of both?

Some deep, guttural part of him seemed to like it, too.

Squeezing his eyes and willing the heat spreading through his upper body away, he scrolled to look at the other picture, only to turn his head into his pillow as the burning came flaring back.

He tossed his phone to the left side of his bed, burying his face into the pillowcase and letting out a loud groan. He let himself sit there for a few seconds before rolling over and staring up at his ceiling.

The swirling in his stomach was overtaking his body, eating him alive like a rabid animal ripping his body apart. Every limb was being devoured in by himself, the animal deep in his heart willing itself to take control and acknowledge the pounding in his head and arteries. 

The blonde allowed himself to sit up, running a hand through his hair and pulling at his roots to give a sense of grounding. Slowly air began to re-take his lungs, as he dragged his left hand across his sheets to grab his phone again.

The damned second image was still there, taunting him in the display back. A large sturdy hand was holding two slim pale ones in a single palm. He couldn’t fathom why dumb comparisons were causing him so much distress, shaking his head again to try and rid the thoughts as he continued analyzing.

There was no way that George was that small, right? Of course, he’d teased before, saying he could probably pick the brunette up and carry him with one hand, but staring at a decently good comparison was making him wonder if that was less a dumb joke and more a reality. The idea that he could push and pull him in any way he wanted to was doing fucked things to his head, yet with the blood pumping and throbbing in his ears, he couldn’t hear his own thoughts clearly enough to push away the disbelief. 

Despite the intense emotions surrounding the dumb post, he still saw nothing special of his own hands, which he’d recognized as he dumbly stared at his free one, turning and gripping it to see anything unique. Vaguely he could register that George had delicate, dare he say  _ pretty _ hands, but despite being the main focus of why he was in the situation in the first place being the limb, it truly wasn’t what made his head spin.

No, it was the idea that he truly could  _ tower _ over the brunette if he wanted, pick him up like he weighed nothing, and probably throw him across a room with little effort. He could encircle both of his wrists in one hand and easily hold him in place. Oh  _ god _ , how much of his waist or back could be covered by his hands? How much could his palm encase? How-

A tiny voice in his brain spoke in a whisper, words flowing through one ear and out the other with little rhythm or beat. He recognized the melody, as it was one he’d grown used to in the past year, more specifically the past few months, and thus he did what he always did when it rang through.

Let it sing until the last note dies, and let it go as it didn’t hold any truth.

Leaning over his bed, he blindly grabbed for his charger, about to set his phone on ‘do not disturb’ for the night, only for a small buzz to vibrate his hand.

_ From: George :] _

_ goodnight you giant _

The warmth and sun blooming beneath his chest relapsed, soaring through his veins again.

_ To: George :] _

_ Goodnight, hope it isn’t too cold so low to the ground. _

_ From: George :] _

_ low blow _

_ From: George :] _

_ literally _

He’d laughed at that, chest drumming softly

_ To: George :] _

_ Love you too _

Perhaps somewhere deep down, he knew the melody was right.


	2. faking me out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream pushes the line and gives in to read the thing he swore he wouldn't. It backfires (obviously).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i would like to make it clear that 'recreating heatwaves' is not the focus at all of this book, but as it focuses on fanworks from the pov of dream, i felt it only fitting to include something regarding it. this will be its last mention :)

Rolling over the next morning to his phone loudly vibrating against his palm was not quite how he wished to wake up, but he couldn’t say he was too upset about it when he saw the contact “georgie :]” shoved in his face.

Grunting as he moved to sit up on his bed he quickly answered the call, despite his eyes desperate to close and fall asleep again

“Hello?”

“ _ Dream! _ ” 

The blonde’s eyes were shot open at the loud volume and excited tone piercing him, before letting out a low laugh.

“Did you just wake up?” George questioned, voice instantly becoming softer as Dream responded with a small hum of agreement.

“Chat, oh my god, Gogy’s so lucky he gets to hear  _ Dreamie’s _ morning voice,” A third voice he instantly realized was Sapnap’s butted in. A small flush of color painted the blonde’s cheeks before he turned his focus back to George.

“You’re streaming? Why can I hear Sapnap?”

A small giggle fell upon his ears and everything was vanilla buttercream again. His heart melted.

“Yes I am, but they can’t hear you, and Sapnap said he wanted to talk to you when I called so I disconnected my headset.”

Dream let out a low laugh and ran a hand through his messy hair at that.

“We quite literally live in the same house, he could just walk to me.”

“Dunno, he’s just a baby or something.”

A protest of whines came from Sapnap’s mouth at the insult but it all seemed like background noise as he stumbled to his computer to open the brunette’s stream. He’d made a habit of watching George’s streams just to see his face more than he normally did. Call it a guilty pleasure, but he could never get enough of the Brit’s soft skin, counting each star of a freckle on his cheekbones, or the deepness of the brown in his eyes always somehow melting and crumbling everything it made eye contact with, or how his hair looked like if you ran your hands through it he’d squeeze his eyes and shudder, digging through slightly harder and-

“Dream? I asked if you were coming on?” George coaxed, snapping the blonde back into reality, hearing his voice through his phone but seeing him through the monitor in front of him. The blonde instinctually responded with the first thing he could think of without the context clues of the conversation prior.

“Coming on what?” 

He said it a little too seriously to be considered a joke, and due to the recency of waking up, it had an edge and a gravel to it that hadn’t necessarily been intended.

Not that he minded the result though.

George’s eyes widened a hair and despite his overdramatic ‘ _ Dream! _ ’ for the aesthetics and optics of the stream, the red rushing to his face and small pull at his bottom lip made the blonde’s head spin.

“What’d he say? C’mon tell us!” Sapnap whined as George let out an embarrassed laugh, seemingly trying to will the red tinting his face to leave.

“Aw, come on now George, tell them what I said,” Dream responded, moving to squeeze the edge of his desk, pouring his gaze into the pixels in front of him. Thinking hard enough, he could hear the soft intake of breath coming from the other end on the line.

“No, Dream, I’m not saying that idiot, what’s wrong with you?”

The blonde didn’t miss the stutter itching to peak out past every word. He noticed the edge to the words, too, like there was hesitancy behind it.

Their dynamic had always been a continuous and looping push and pull, Dream pushing the pair and their line as far as he could with George pulling back and remained coy, mysterious even to a degree. The ebb and flow of their daily life had consisted of this dynamic, the energies between them intermingling like temperature. 

Dream burned, his touch or words could completely erode someone for better or for worse.

George froze, completely fizzling out even the brightest of sparks and holding them by their throat, catching them off guard and holding them there.

Together they seeped into the most beautiful shades of red and blue.

“Come one, tell them what I said. And while you’re at it, answer my question, come on what, George?”

Words were falling from his mouth before he could even fully understand what he was saying and the implications floating over his gravelly tone. He didn’t really know what he wanted the brunette to reply with. It was for banter, right? Wanting to egg on the fans?

_ God _ , then why was he so enthralled with the small gasps and blushes escaping his friend like it was his only lifeline?

“I’m not gonna say it, Dream,” George mumbled meekly, voice barely making a sound. The power and leverage he had in the moment sent him into a state of ecstasy, he was  _ high _ off of making George weak. High off of how easily he could do this.

“Say it, George.” 

The blonde’s tone shifted to something much darker, the edge of his vocal cords still retaining as he commanded the other man to speak. The soft huffs of breath from the other steadily continued as he kept his mouth otherwise shut. The dainty hand resting on his desk was loosely tensing, he could tell by his forearms as his hand was just out of shot. The flush on his face was immeasurably beautiful to Dream.

The fire he had become sparked and roared at the fact that he was the one who reduced George to this state.

Words were itching to come out from the back of his throat, his heart wrenching to continue and his brain begging to stop.

_ Too far, too far, it’s too far, too far- _

“Or do I have to come over there and make you?”

The shudder that wracked the brunette’s frail frame caused his eyes to close and his phone to slip out of his hand, almost into his lap as he scrambled to catch it in both of his frail hands. His pupils were blown wider, only truly being seen to Dream, and the flush was running down through his collar bones, adding splotches of beautiful roses etched into his skin.

Dream’s heart was pounding against his chest, his own eyes also blown wide with power and something he couldn’t quite place. The hand holding his phone stayed molded against his ear while the other was gripping the edge of his desk hard enough for his normally tan skin to have splotches of white on its back. 

He hastily turned the audio to George’s stream on as he heard the line go dead

“We-Well, I think it’s safe to assume, uhm, Dream will- will not be joining us today,” The brunette managed to stutter out, collecting himself and shoving his phone far away from him on his desk. The pink tint to his face was not fading anytime soon, and neither was his dazed speech patterns. 

Dream tuned out what words were being said, while still keeping the music of George’s voice at the forefront of his mind. He couldn’t stop the thumping and racing.

He knew chat couldn’t hear him. No one but his best friend could hear their conversation. There wasn’t an audience to please or pander to, no quota of jokes to make, no teasing or taunting Twitter, _nothing_. Yet words kept flowing and he relished in it. He relished in the effect his words had, he relished in the stutters and gasps he heard, he relished in the fact that _only_ _he_ could make George like that.

Why?

Why did he love the rush? Why did he ache to see George in person and give him no escape to his words? Why did he want to see if those pictures from Twitter were accurate? Why did he continue to pull him apart when there was nothing to blame it on but his own possessive nature?

He squeezed his eyes shut, reaching his hand for his phone to check his timeline. 

-@G30RGEN0TCL0TH3D

these dnf jokes go further and further when they tweet they’re dating at this point are we really gonna be shocked?

Jokes.

Why did his heart ache at that?

They’re just jokes. He knew that. He'd made that clear to everyone. Maybe he’d convinced himself of that.

But why did it feel like a knife drilling through his heart when he saw it clear as day on a screen? 

Scrolling further he noticed a trend in the responses to the stunt he had pulled, and he furrowed his eyebrows together at the sheer  _ number _ of them.

-@netheritesapnap

DREAM IS LYING SAYING HE HASN’T READ HEATWAVES WHY DID THEY JUST RECREATE THAT SCENE?????

-@dr34msm4sk

HEATWAVES??!!?!?!??! WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT??

-@b00wh0recracker

they really looked at chapter 6 of hw and said “this is a script now”

In all honesty, he’d never let himself indulge in the now widespread fanfiction. Sure, he’d read others alone in the privacy of his room (as a joke, obviously), but something about the art he’d seen had made him terrified to try and read the work. He’d never fully understood why, as Sapnap and George had sat in a call  _ together _ and read it, but there was something about the way that even people who had previously tweeted about hating dreamnotfound somehow found unity in the writing ability of the author.\

He had, however, allowed himself in moments of weakness to scroll through the art hashtag. He picked up on little bits and pieces, including the iconic “I burn you?” “You melt me” couplet, which in all reality was becoming too realistic to be played off as fiction.

He remained anxious about reading it, and simply brushed his thoughts off, glancing up to see the absolute  _ angel _ before him, smiling and waving chat goodbye. The figure made him stop and recollect himself as his breath hitched as a swarm of laughs fell through his headset.

As his offline screen went on display, Dream couldn’t keep his eyes off the area where his best friend previously was. His mind raced and frantically searched for more answers as he found himself quickly zoning out.

Did George like it as much as he did?

The sound of his door jolting open startled him into reality, Sapnap standing in the doorway with a shit-eating grin.

“What’d you tell him?”

-

Sapnap had not stopped bothering him throughout the day about what he’d said, procuring the same annoyed remarks from the blonde to get him off his case. 

It was past midnight when he found himself hovering over his AO3 search bar, itching to type in ‘heatwaves’.

At some point in high school, he’d made an archive account to post some dumb insert Percy Jackson fanfiction he’d written, and after a few attempts at his password, he was back in. He knew the basics around the website and from the number of tweets he’d seen saying, “OMG SAPNAP OR GEORGE HAVE TO HAVE AN AO3 ACCOUNT BECAUSE THEY READ HEAT WAVES”, he had assumed the work was locked for users only.

After a few more minutes of staring he hastily typed in the keywords and tapped on the first result, recognizing the author's name from Twitter when he DMed them on dreamhangout. 

He scanned the tags, feeling the twist in his stomach at the ‘unrequited lust’ tag. Everyone was obsessed with this, and from what he assumed, it was decently sexual, why would a fandom cling on something sad?

The swirling in his stomach continued and the fear of reading the fic came back, overtaking him.

He knew he didn’t like George. So why was this so hard?

Quickly he decided to skip to chapter six, as that was apparently what he had unwillingly recreated. The scene started midway through a conversation, and within the first few lines, his throat became dry at the accuracy in the characterization of both him and his best friend.

The prospect of blushing came up just as quickly as it had during his stream that day, and he quickly realized the premise was the same, minus Sapnap. A phone call on stream, where Dream was not heard.

Eating up every word on the screen in front of him, he dove into the false reality built. George reacting to his own voice made him  _ reel _ , and seeing ‘George’ admit to it sent a sense of pride through his own body too.

His heart lept in his throat at the sensual words and feelings so expertly crafted. He was beginning to understand why the word was as popular as it was.

Even in his own bed, he felt overwhelmed and warm at the very idea of fulfilling any of the promises ‘Dream’ made.

_ “I don’t get how you’re this stubborn,” Dream says, the frustration of hot days and endless nights sharpening his tongue. “After everything—you still don’t believe you can be wanted?” _

_ Everyone wants you. I want you. Don't you know that? _

‘Isn’t that the truth’ are the only words that come to the front of his mind at the lines. He refused to stop reading and try to understand the meaning behind his thoughts.

His hand not holding his phone gripped his sheets much harder than necessary, subconsciously flexing the veins across the back of his hands.

He swallowed thickly as ‘Dream’ confessed that the brunette needed to be kissed so hard he’d forget his own name.

Two thoughts rolled through his brain; One, now he understood what the joke behind ‘forgetting your own name’ was, and two, how would it feel to kiss him?

Eyes zoning out on the screen he let his mind wander.

His lips looked soft, always so soft. Like he’d mold himself and attach himself to them without hesitance. Would the brunette like to be gripped hard on his arms or waist? Or kissed gingerly with a soft flutter as his hands enveloped the older’s jaw? Would he feel the small tracks of stubble on his chin, or would his face be soft and freshly shaven, like a pillow to the touch? Would Dream’s hands cover his whole waist, completely swallowing him whole, overpowering him until he was whimpering and-

The same contact that woke him up was presented in his face again.

He frantically rushed to answer the call as his face flushed at his previous thoughts.

“Hi, Dream, I’m sorry for calling late, but I needed to ask you a quick question about this line of code, is that fine?” 

George’s voice was always a song. Always vanilla buttercream, covering him wholly.

He wondered if he tasted like it, too.

“Yes, of course, can I call you on discord?” He responded, echoing the soft murmuring tone. George hummed in agreement, before letting the call sit in silence for a few seconds.

“I’ll call you, you sound tired,” The younger continued, moving to sit up. He was met with another hum before he chuckled lowly in response before disconnecting the call.

The piece of writing lay in front of him again, taunting him with their words and the fire they caused under his skin, in his face, low in his gut.

A part of him felt guilty. But why would he feel guilty if he didn’t care?

Pushing aside his thoughts he stood up and walked to his desk.

George was more important than this. He always was.


	3. how, why, what

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream's obsession grows more and more concerning to his friends and family. One call may change his entire perception of reality, however.

Truly he never intended to be this consumed by fanart and fanfiction, but it was frankly becoming an increasingly inescapable problem.

The morning after he had called George (they’d inevitably stayed in a call, hours longer than intended as per usual), he found himself reading the entire work from start to finish.

He had to say, he understood where the hype was at, the writing was truly amazing.

Of course, Dream had known about AO3 previously, however, when he read fanfic with his friends it was almost exclusively from Wattpad and exceptionally, exceptionally bad. So seeing writing with him and his friends that was well crafted and genuine art to him, was kind of crazy. New was probably a better word for it.

Despite the small part of him screaming to get a grip and address why the  _ hell _ , he was so enthralled in reading intricate fake feelings (God, he was growing to hate the word) between him and his best friend, he bookmarked practically  _ everything _ under their ship tag. For the next few days, he blew through book after book, sometimes tens of thousands of word books without hesitancy. Soulmate AUs, stuff within the SMP lore, Knight Dream and King George, fake dating, fluffy oneshots, angsty AUs that had nothing to do with their real-life in any way, _everything_ and _anything_. 

He was completely and utterly enthralled.

Then fanart became a problem too.

He saw a link at the bottom of one of the works he was reading leading to Twitter, explaining that someone drew their work.

This, of course, caused a downward spiral on combing through account after account of fanart. He was more aware of the sudden racing in his heart upon seeing art of his best friend sitting on his lap in a hot tub than he was to reading it, as he had even gone so far to like said art on his art account at times. He’d be lying if he said 'dnf coded' or 'dnf' art  _ wasn’t _ well done.

Needless to say, his obsession was becoming a lot.

Dream never understood why, though, and any attempt led him to anxiously shove his head into his pillow and blast music to overpower his own thoughts.

The art was well-drawn, the fics were well-written. He could enjoy these things without having any mal intent, I mean, some people on Twitter weren’t comfortable with IRL shipping yet enjoyed art. He could care less if the beautifully done drawings were of him making out with his best friend, it was art goddamnit and he wanted to appreciate the artists of his community no matter what it was.

And when he quickly muted the terms ‘snf’ and ‘sapnotfound’ under all his accounts, it was because he despised the orange and blue contrast from an art perspective.

Nothing more.

-

Dream’s state was honestly growing extremely concerning to the people living nearby or with him. Sapnap had run out of ways to tell the dirty blonde fourteen-year-old that would show up at their doorstep that her older brother locked himself in his room for the fifth day doing god knows what.

It came to a head when said teenage girl left the house without seeing her brother again after a few hours of bullshitting through games of chess with the other roommate.

There was a loud pounding on Dream’s door, causing the former to drop his phone and scramble to close every tab he had open. Shakily getting up, he dizzily climbed over to his door, opening it to a very unhappy Sapnap.

“Hey how-”

“What the fuck is up with you, man?” The brunette interrupted, crossing his arms and looking over his friend’s flushed expression.

“What?” was the only response that came from the blonde. 

Sapnap sighed in response, pushing past him and sitting on the edge of his bed.

“This is the third time your sister has come over and  _ you’ve _ been cooped up in your room doing whatever the hell you’ve been, which speaking of, you’ve left your room probably a grand total of three times in the past five days.”

Dream stood in a daze, barely recognizing the compulsivity that led him to the state he was in now. A small pool of guilt started stirring in his stomach at the realization of his newfound obsession.

“Look, I’m just worried. Can you  _ please _ talk to me?” Sapnap reaffirmed, leaning back on his arms staring daggers into the taller.

He’d been able to give himself reasons for everything he’d been doing. He didn’t want fans obsessing over him liking fanart that was very obviously ship art, so he made a secret account. He genuinely liked the work, which is why he wanted to show appreciation. The swirling in his stomach when George would smile, or when fanfiction George would do something a little too realistic could be brushed off that it was well written, or that he just loved being in his best friend’s presence, making stupid jokes and such. The affinity of seeing himself portrayed as very much so taller than the other was the stupid Leo inside of him, proud that he was showing ‘superior’ traits. When he helplessly scrolled through every post when ‘George's waist’ trended, so entranced at how small he was, it was nothing more than curiosity, as he had never been that small before.

As he tried to gather his thoughts, every new string of sentences in his mind fell apart extremely fast, collapsing in a dim heap.

“I’ve- I’ve just been really focused on trying to interact with, like, fans, and I dunno, I just didn’t realize I’d been as cooped up as I was,” Dream responded, finally, letting out a small sigh and walking to sit down next to him. Sapnap’s face outwardly was genuine but the undertones screamed “I don’t believe you”. The guilt in him peaked more as he lied, cringing at his words. Why couldn’t he bring himself to tell his best friend of _ten_ _years_ the truth? It wasn’t a big deal?

From staring at the tiny screen of his phone for hours, the bags under his eyes were heightened and he did look like a wreck. The brunette moved a hand to his knee and gave a small smile. Dream tried to smile back, trying to forget the hours of re-learning ao3 and scouring the internet for the specific fanart he wanted to indulge in. His expression faltered as he realized the mention of his sister.

“I should text her to apologize right?” He laughed.

Sapnap rolled his eyes.

“Actually, me and her are best friends now after the hours of chess games I’m glad you’re going through me first,”

Dream wheezed at that, moving to stand up and ruffling the messy hair on his friend’s head. He felt calm for what seemed to be like the first time in weeks.

The pair moved to make some sort of food, as it was their first proper meal together in a few days.

-

There was a deep pang of guilt as he logged into @numberonegogysimp that night. 

The same daunting posts of “i miss dream” or something about their streams from the past week were there like always, along with the fanart (and even fanwork  _ writers _ he followed after particularly good work) which he truly did adore.

He scrolled a bit down his timeline, passing and liking fanart of him and his friends, finding some peace in the mind-numbing repetition.

Another wave of guilt and perhaps something else fell over him when he saw the first ‘dnf’ art of the night. As always, beautifully drawn, of the pair in a flower field, tentatively holding hands with pink cheeks.

The growing frequency of the erratic thumping in his heart was becoming a nuisance at this point, as he groaned and turned away, moving to stare at his ceiling fan.

They were becoming quite good friends over the past few days, the intense and frustrating stares to the object had created a very sweet connection and bond.

It  _ was _ getting out of hand. This whole obsession he had just started on a whim. 

Swiping out of Twitter he let out a sigh, his heart rate decreasing steadily. For the first time in a while, he let his mind go blank for a minute, staring into his lock screen with little care.

Dream hated thinking about why he did things.

He always knew  _ how _ , the intricate details of how he gained his fame, or how he met his friends, or how he’d made a stupid  _ stan _ account on Twitter in secret.

Hows are simple and orderly. A complete structure to tell a story, most often able to explain the mechanics of each and every moving part within it.

Whys are messy.

They are dark storm clouds, coiling together over oceans of emotions and depth. Threatening and willing to rain and kill whatever was in its path, effectively drowning them until their last breath was stolen and ripped from them.

Whys were also balls of yarn. Helpless ends of string weaving together and tying knots you couldn’t even fathom were possible to exist, warping your perception of every experience or memory you’ve had in your life. At some point, it becomes so convoluted and confusing you give up, or fall into a heap and cry because you’re helpless. Trapped, even.

Dream knew  _ how _ he made his secret alt. He wanted a way to interact with fanworks and not bring attention to himself on his main or existing alts, so the easy thing was a new account.

Why?

He wasn’t quite ready yet to delve into that one. 

Standing in his doorway facing his best friend of almost a decade made him realize that he  _ certainly _ wasn’t ready to acknowledge why he was falling so deep into the never-ending abyss that he was. Every excuse felt cheap, lacking any real meaning.

But there was one, wasn’t there?

Dream’s body jolted back to reality as he saw his favorite notification illuminate his screen. Very quickly, that happiness and spark inside him simmered at the message.

_ From: George :] _

_ hey are you awake?  _

Dream knew George down to his text mannerisms. His eyebrows furrowed as he sensed something wrong in his tone.

_ To: George :] _

_ Yeah, of course, is everything alright? _

Before there was a chance for an answer, his phone was vibrating with an incoming call.

“Hello?” He started, moving to sit up straight, feet dangling over the edge of his bed.

“Hey,” George replied, a breathy laugh and a small sniffle going through the line. Worry began making its way through the blonde.

“George? What’s wrong? Are you-”

“Dream take a breath I’m okay, I promise.”

His tone was so gentle it made the taller’s vision coat with clouds and sugar flow through his system. It made him  _ ache _ .

“Why are you crying?” He managed to coo, sinking back into his mattress. The blonde’s own intonation matched the friend’s. Gentle, like he were made of glass and needed to be handled with such delicacy. Dream had always been a gentle giant.

“I-I just-”

Another round of sniffles and shaky breaths felt like bullets.

“I just miss you,” George admitted, breath and voice growing shakier and shakier over the line. Pained confusion fell over Dream.

“I’m right here George, I always am.”

“No- No, I mean,”

Beat.

“I mean that- God, this is so fucking weird, and I have no idea how to even phrase it,”

Dream’s breathing had calmed down, as his pulse still raced. His free hand lingered on the soft sheets beneath him, finding something to fixate on other than the heat pooling everywhere in him. He'd wait a million years for George. He always would.

“Can you try for me?”

He vaguely registered a swallow on the other end. His body shuddered involuntarily.

“How do I miss you when I’ve never even met you?”

The words settled over the cool night air, and as Dream was about to respond, George continued.

“I don’t mean you, like your calls or texts or-or filming, I mean I miss  _ you _ . I miss your presence, and your aura, and what it’s like to wake up and know you’re just down the hall from me. I miss your stupidly tall body that problem gives damn good hugs, I miss what your voice sounds like echoing off your stupid empty rooms of your stupidly fucking big house instead of through a device, I miss-”

He cut himself off.

“I miss you, Dream.”

The warmth that started blooming in the tips of his fingers had grown and spread and  _ flourished _ throughout his body leading straight to his heart. His eyes were suns and his limbs were fire, burning through everything he touched. He thought his bed had caved underneath him and he was floating in nothing but a deep abyss.

George never talked like that. It was always small quips and jabs and attacks with no bite, the odd comment with affection dripping from it and laced between the loops of letters. 

When George called him during the day it was downright sensual remarks, burning tension, and blurred lines. Heat, sweltering heat.

When George called him at night, it was soft coos, gentle praises, and sentences laced with love, infatuation, and  _ care _ . Cold, enthralling cold.

Perhaps there was something to say about the pair intertwined within it.

Time had stopped, as his mouth ran dry and his head filled with fantasies of living with George.  _ His _ George.

“I-I-”

“I’m sorry this is so weird, I’ll call you back later or-”

“Don’t fucking hang up.”

Dream sat up straight, the words coming out more demanding than he wanted them to. Not that he minded or cared, as the only thing going through his mind was the hazy pink cloud of George, George, George.

“I completely understand.”

Dream licked his lips, his hand gripping his sheets with more audacity.

“I miss our banter while watching shitty shows, despite never having it happen. I miss you mocking the food in my fridge with your dumb posh accent in the morning after we all just woke up, despite an ocean separating us.  _ God _ , I miss you, and your frame, and everything about you yet I’ve never even had the opportunity to even  _ see _ you.”

He could’ve gone on for hours talking about every freckle and dip and curve and perfect imperfection within the boy across the world from him. He’d do anything, go through any length to prove that George was  _ loved _ . 

The sniffles and hiccups had grown slightly in the pause after his statement, but the sentiment and emotion was beautiful and hidden between the soft cries. Dream felt his own tears boiling behind his own eyes.

“I can’t wait to not have to miss you.”

“Soon. So, so soon. I promise, okay?”

Dream could hear his heart in his ears as time melted on.

“Okay. Thank you, Dream. For-For everything,” George replied soft and raw love in his words.

“Of course. Always.”

_ I’d give up anything for you. _

The pause and silence held no discomfort or awkwardness, as they took in soft intakes of breath together. Unbeknownst to them, their pulses had turned to one soft beat of a drum.

“Crying makes me tired,” George whispered, the shuffling of sheets being heard through the phone.

“I’m tired too.”

Dream’s eyes were fluttering closed.

“Can you stay on the line with me?”

The question was timid, earning a laugh from the blonde, rumbles breaking through the night.

“Is that even a question Gogy? Of course.”

George chuckled back, digging further under his covers as silence again washed over them. 

Dream’s heart was full. So, so,  _ beyond _ full.

How? George, of course. Why?

He still hated ‘why’s.

“I love you, Dream,”

His heart thundered, blood failing him and flushing him down to his collarbones in a soft red.

“I love you too, George.”

Yes, his heart was full. Of what?

_ I love you, George. _

_ I love you, George. _

_ I  _ love  _ you, George. _

_ Love, love, love, love, love, love, love- _

His stomach twisted as his face paled, hands growing far too clammy to be considered normal.

He decided he hated ‘what’s, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> twt - @/quartzfia
> 
> any & all comments appreciated and welcomed! thank you for reading <3


	4. wrecked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream is fucked.

The guilt and shame was washing over him in waves as he stared at the tags on his screen.

Sure, he had read cringey and horribly worded works before that involved what he quickly realized was called smut, but he never did so for his own self interest. It was always a joke, something  _ funny _ .

He’d quickly realized how many things he couldn’t play off as jokes anymore.

His heart always skipped a beat when he saw tags or snippets of works that were very obviously sexual in nature, primarily because of how  _ well _ he knew they’d be written. It was quite a terrifying thing.

Taking the plunge was in all honesty the hardest part, but once he started, there was no way in hell he’d be able to stop.

Every work he read had some form of “eventual smut” tag, devouring them in their entirety way faster than he was reading before. Every minute he wasn’t outside his room with Sapnap or streaming with someone, his eyes were glued to his phone, carving away work after work, devouring them apart piece by piece as fast as he possibly could.

He’d deny, and ignore, and evade everytime the heat and fire pooled in his stomach during or after reading. 

The fire that coursed through his brain and innermost bloodstream had begun to carry into his time with his friends, too. It terrified him.

It came to a head while George was streaming scribble.io. Dream had grown accustomed to shutting his phone off during streams to remove any temptation to read or indulge in anything while he was with his friends. He had to keep them separate. He just  _ had _ to.

“Bad, your drawings are so fucking bad.  _ Why _ is there always a person?” Quackity whined, leaving Dream to snicker at the truth of it. He’d already guessed the word (it was duck), which made the situation funnier to him, as there was indeed a stick figure holding the animal rather than just the animal itself.

“Language! No need to be rude,” Bad responded, continuing to draw as the time ran out. 

Dream tuned out everyone else in the call humming to himself something unconsciously.

“ _ How the fuck was that a duck Bad?” _

“Language!”

Another laugh bubbled through Dream’s chest, followed by a matching giggle that made his heart soar. They were playing with Quackity, Bad, Sapnap, Skeppy and Punz, while George was, obviously, the one streaming. Everyone watching seemed to enjoy the dynamics between the group which was good since it was pretty diverse, covering a decent variety of fanbases.

“Everyone shut up I’m drawing now,” Quackity continued, voice loudly blaring through the blonde’s headset. He rolled his eyes at the trash talk he was spewing before refocusing on the screen, only for his breath to catch in his throat.

He was in way over his head, and it was finally catching up to him.

The drawing was shitty, a lime green stick figure towering way high above the shorter blue stick figure next to it, crude goggles on its forehead. Quackity was already drawing what he assumed to be a wall behind the George stick figure, making it look like Dream had him pinned against it. Everyone in the call began laughing or yelling forms of “pandering”, but Dream’s mind went blank and his ears filled with static.

His body and jaw clenched, his mind being assaulted with lewd sections of writings he’d read in the past days, dialogue repeating over and over again in his mind.

One of the tags he’d frequented more often than he wanted to ever admit was size differences. The idea of being able to completely tower over his best friend, hold him down with ease, how his  _ hands _ and waist must be so tiny compared to his, how he could manhandle him however he pleased,  _ everything _ sent rushes of dopamine to his brain. He was vividly reimagining one of his favorite fics he’d read with the smaller being completely engulfed into his body against the small confinement of a wall.

He hadn’t realized the others were yelling at him until he saw the red zeros next to his name and the reveal of the word “tall” above the leaderboard.

His mouth was dry, his heart pounding, and his brain was reeling.

This had to have been crossing some sort of line.

“Dream? Where’d you go? Too captivated with Gogy’s beautiful looks?” Quackity teased. Dream winced at the mention of his best friend’s beauty being the butt of a joke.

“Oh, sorry, Patches erm, knocked something over and I had to let her out of my room.”

He knew George could see right through his lies.

“And speaking of which, I think I’m gonna head out, I realized I have some important merch things I have to go over I forgot about.”

He couldn’t bring himself to care as his hands got shaky.

“Dream, c’mon you can stay for the rest of the round can’t you?” George asked, the warmth in his voice being too much,  _ way _ too much for Dream’s brain to handle at the moment.

_ It almost sounds like he’s begging- _

“No, I’m sorry George. I really have to go. Bye guys, bye chat!”

Without listening to another plead he disconnected from the call and practically threw his headset at his desk. Standing up, he moved to stand in front of his window, staring at the streets nearby him, lights twinkling in the midafternoon and illuminating the shady sidewalk like stars.

Dream was not gay. He had had crushes on women since he was practically a child, remembering the attraction to both fictional and real women throughout adolescence. That being said, he was also not bisexual. There was simply no way. He’d never felt the same pull to women as he did to men, or at least that he could fully remember. 

It was  _ George  _ that threw everything he knew about himself and the world around him for a headspin.

His heart hammered in his chest when George was FaceTime him just to show him a new shirt he bought. His chest reeled whenever George laughed or smiled, in a way it never did for any of his other friends. To him, and half the internet, George was  _ pretty _ . But he was beyond pretty, he was downright stunning. Dream could go on for hours about every tiny detail about George’s hair and eyes and collarbones and cheeks and wrists explaining how they all made him  _ so _ gorgeous. Ethereal, even. 

Then the stupid fucking hole he dug for himself by reading  _ fanfiction _ . Reading about being able to hold, to touch, to take, to  _ love _ George, sent everything in his brain for a loop. It was everything he had dreamed about put into words.

He found his mind constantly wandering, wondering what it would truly be like to kiss and hold  _ his _ George. To feel his body flush against his, grip his hips, hold his cheeks, devour him, consume him in all of his being.

He wanted George more than he needed to breathe.

But he  _ couldn’t _ . He just couldn’t. 

How could he want that of George? How could he let himself slip so far into a realm of possibility that didn’t even exist that he’d be daydreaming of such intimate moments of a man across an ocean.

His head throbbed. His phone vibrated.

_ Snapchat from Georgie :P _

Dream sat up, staring at the notification. They rarely texted through Snapchat unless it would be things left unspoken about.

_ Fuck it _ .

His brain wiped, shoving the thoughts into the very back corners of his mind. George was his escape. Nothing else mattered.

It was a simple picture of his keyboard with the text “where did you go :[“ across it. Flutters overtook his stomach as he instantly smiled, sending back a picture of his ceiling and typing out a basic response.

_ important merch shit, but its done now. stream end already? wyd now? _

The picture changed from delivered to opened instantly, and he had one back within seconds, this time a more blurry picture of his keyboard.

_ yeah it gets boring without you there. just browsing twitter _

As he moved to type a response a screenshot of a tweet sent through and Dream felt his body go numb.

_ Georgie :P: _

_ these the hand comparisons that one dono asked about? _

_ [attachment: 1 image] _

It was indeed the first post that sent him into the spiralling disaster he had been in for however many days it had been. Two pictures of hands that looked, in Dream’s opinion, scarily similar to that of his own and his friend’s.

_ Me: _

_ Yeah, I think so those are the only ones I saw anyways _

He held his breath, swiping out of the conversation and moving to scroll aimlessly through TikTok as some sort of distraction. There was a pause in the messages before he got a picture in response. Blinking at his screen, he opened it, breath hitching at the image before him.

A, in all honesty, beautiful picture of George’s hand, raised up lazily held in the air.

Dream had seen his fair share of hand pictures and fancams on his timeline before, but this was special. This was just for him. No one else’s eyes would ever see the pictures and words said under the cover of dark rooms and private apps. Speaking of words, Dream felt his eyes practically roll to the back of his head at the text accompanying it.

_ are your hands really that huge _

Unthinking and rash, he flipped his camera to face outwards moving his hand to mirror George’s except with a flat palm like his hand was against something. Before he could even think about changing the caption, it was sent into the cloud.

_ Maybe. Or maybe you’re just small. _

The response was instant, a blurry shot of his hand in a similar position.

_ im sure youd like either _

He thought back to the pictures, to the art, to the writing, to everything.

Holy  _ fuck _ he would.

Go big or go home, right? It was a blurry picture of his face, features barely recognizable (something he liked to keep that way), and a rarity of the blonde to ever even consider sending.

_ Maybe you should come over here and find out. I’m much bigger than you think I am. _

He’d grown used to the sun igniting in his veins, but tonight the lack of fear was deep down terrifying. He knew he’d go too deep, he knew he’d swim down, down, down, so far into the ocean that was George’s being until he drowned a satisfied and weak man. 

Dream couldn’t bring himself to care.

Instant response again, a delicate hand over the brunette’s face, a splatter of blush just barely out of view from the picture.

_ are you now? i dunno, i could probably overpower you, i know i have an effect on you dream _

The fire inside him roared, burning through everything it touched. The numb weight against his tongue had become a staple of his life while texting George. He was a forest fire ravaging through whatever was in his path to gain his end goal. His head was reeling at the teasing intonation he could pick up through the sensual messages.

His hand lay on his collarbones, eyes and top of his head just out of frame, frantically typing away as soon as he could. The coiling in his gut never ceased as he pressed send with no waiver.

_ I could probably hold you down with one hand if I wanted to. Question is where, wrists or neck? _

The conversation went silent for a minute, then two, then at three George replayed his photo. Dream’s heart was throbbing against his chest.

_ Georgie :P: jesus fuckin christ dream _

_ Me: What? _

_ Georgie :P: warn a guy before you casually mention you could choke him _

Burning, burning, burning. All Dream had become was burning heat and desire. He was obsessed, enthralled, almost to where he felt he was _ violating  _ his best friend.

_ Me: Aw did I get you all flustered? _

_ Georgie: no absolutely not _

_ Me: Prove it then _

Dream hadn’t expected a picture, but when he got one did he  _ spiral _ .

The hand resting on his face, hiding his eyes from view was now backward, gripping the pillow above his head, his eyelids hanging low. His brown eyes froze everything they touched to ice, both burning and freezing Dream’s entire being, swallowing him whole with one glance. George’s cheeks were flushed, red trailing down to his collarbone just barely seen at the bottom of his screen. Pink lips just barely parted in a way that sent Dream reeling.

He was fucked.

_ see? no affect _

Majorly fucked.

Anything the brunette asked, Dream would’ve given him. He’d swim through any ocean, tear apart every mountain piece by piece, burn himself through any fire for the brunette consuming his life across the world. The blonde was shaky, barely being able to keep his fingers stable enough to type out anything.

_ Me: You look wrecked and I’m not even there _

_ Georgie :P: dont flatter yourself you don’t know who else ive been texting during this _

_ Georgie :P: maybe it was someone else’s doing _

The blonde’s teeth clamped down on each other. The thought of anyone else seeing or hearing George like this made all the wrong nerves on fire, gut swirling the opposite direction it had been steadily for the past half hour.

_ Me: Who. _

He hadn’t noticed the punctuation that came as a result of the burning in his eyes and itching in his hands to keep what was his away from anyone else’s gross grip.

_ Georgie :P: god you really are a dog _

_ Georgie :P: always need the reassurance its just you? _

His mind flashed, the words dogboy and catboy holding a death grip on his skull recently. He wasn’t thinking right.

Although, he hadn’t for quite a while had he?

_ Me: Just keeping track of what’s mine _

Words held little weight to him, the heavy repercussions of every letter dripping with heat being out of sight and out of mind, far too in the future for the blonde to care. They did this often, and Dream knew well enough they’d sit in a voice call the next day as if nothing had happened. As if these sentences with too many deep rooted truths had not existed nor meant anything.

They meant something to Dream. They meant more than even he thought they did.

Messages halted for a minute, before the man across an ocean started typing again.

_ Georgie :P: so possessive _

Alluring cold, cooling Dream’s fire yet beckoning it to rage forward through dark tunnels and steep cliffs.

_ Me: You never stop me _

_ Georgie :P: no, i don’t _

_ Me: I don’t think you want me to _

_ Georgie :P: maybe its nice to feel owned, dream _

Dream reeled, acutely aware of the sweat sticking his white shirt to his chest and of the scorching fire in his mouth.

_ Me: Maybe it is _

Both knew the other was staring at the blue light of their phones, keyboard haunting them. How far were lines pushed? How far would they continue to be? 

Dream wanted to tell George it all, he wanted to shower and spoil him with every desire and daydream he’d concocted. He wanted to tell him how he revelled in his petite and small frame, how often he thought about what it would be like to see him covered in red and crimson marks with dazed, glossy eyes batting up at him, how he desperately wanted to know if George tasted like the vanilla candles he’d collected in his room, always eagerly showing on calls.

_ Georgie :P im about to pass out phone in hand _

_ Me: I’m that boring? _

_ Georgie :P: far far from it loverboy _

Thump, thump, thump.

_ Me: Sleep call? _

His phone was ringing in an instant, and the brunette said nothing as he slipped into slumber, the blonde’s presence being the warmth he needed.

It was just past three in the afternoon for Dream.

George superseded the sun and any timezone.

Before sleep overtook his broad body, images and sounds flooded his brain.

Burning, burning, burning, burning, melting away at his skin.

How long would it be until he was gone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is not gonna be happy btw
> 
> ;) thanks for reading! <3
> 
> twt: @/quartzfia


	5. burning (burnt)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dream loses himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, a thank you to my beta, anna :)

Dream’s fan whirred above his head, eyes burning from being stretched open hours too long. The burning he once described as passion and drive was eating him inside out. Carving away at the walls of his mind and body, tearing it to shreds.

Truly, it had been a long time coming, but to the blonde, it felt like a freight train.

A lifetime of memories, feelings and words had overwhelmed his being, clinging to his muscles and causing an ache, tying himself to his bed. Could he really trust any perception of reality he had up until that point? Any memories or feelings seemed to be a fabricated and cheap explanation of the life he had known.

After the heated words exchanged through text of the two, Dream couldn’t sleep. He could barely fucking breathe, how the hell was he expected to _sleep_?

The past two days he had existed in a pile of his own despair, all basic human needs kept unchecked. He hadn’t eaten, _God_ knows when the last he drank water was, and any hygiene had been thrown out and crumpled in exchange for the cage of his own bed. His bed was his comfort, familiar and grounding in the black ocean that was his mind and feelings.

It had came crashing down on him the morning he woke up, seeing that George left their Facetime. Two small messages in his notifications lay in his wake.

_From: George :]_

_totally forgot about a video sapnap has been nagging me to record for ages. had to leave the call </3 _

_From: George :]_

_dont worry, im still all yours dream ;)_

It took those few words, the insignificant and _stupid_ idea of George ever truly being his broke him. The shards of glass he was desperately attempting to keep hot molten lava inside had shattered and gave way.

It destroyed him.

He was hit with the weight of too many ‘why’s to count falling and falling on top of him, new revelation after new revelation.

Had he been living a lie his entire life? Memories of a childhood friendship that sent his young heart thumping every time the pair hugged or fell to the grassy dirt below them grew thorns instead of roses in his mind. The blurred lines and hazy memories of friends in highschool behind locked doors and never to be spoken of again were knives finally digging into his back and slicing him open at his most vulnerable spots.

A part of him hated himself.

It made no sense, the disgust and disdain when thinking about the possibility of himself liking men. He had been born made of love ready to give and spread to everyone he touched, growing into the man he was doing just that. His heart raged when he saw blatant prejudice and pain towards things people had zero control over. The letters and messages he’d received from fans telling of horrible families broke his heart in two, wishing he could know every single person he had touched and made an impact on and feeling helpless at the knowledge he would never physically be capable of doing so. Everyone deserved love and to be shown it, and there was absolutely nothing wrong with who people wanted to love. He’d die on that hill before anything else.

So why was the knotting feeling in his stomach and urge to vomit so intensely high at the realization he had never fit into the box he had claimed he did for years too long?

Perhaps it was the hatred of only now addressing the problems and fear he had been shoving back for much of his life, or perhaps it was the internalized thought that it was okay for everyone else except for him.

Maybe a combination of both poisons, now drenching him in acid. Burning used to feel like glistening heat. Now it was bubbling against his heavy eyes and ripping at his limbs.

He wondered when it would swallow him whole.

These thoughts came with the cost of the other most important piece of his life.

Dream knew, way deep down, he would never be truly happy without George in his arms. A part of him accepted it long ago before being smashed into the pits of his innermost thoughts, a brief recognition and a memory long faded. 

The thought of someone else being able to call George theirs? 

Smoldering flames crackled under his muscles, itching to rip whatever was in their way.

He couldn’t bring himself to say the words that had become so commonplace for him all his life. They held a weight of heavy sea water, biting to pull him down in their depths. It was all too raw, too real, too _heavy_.

God, everything felt heavy. He couldn’t bear to open his phone, long shut off next to him. The weight of the device was beyond overwhelming, for both his body (once strong, now frail) and metaphorically.

He hadn’t considered his roommate and best friend coming to check on him at all, nor expected it. The brunette had picked up on his strange patterns, hiding tabs and such on his phone anytime they were together and he’d grown to ignore them. 

The knock on the door sent a jolt through him, but the door clicking open made him want to be swallowed whole into the ground. Any semblance of confidence he could've had had been ripped from him.

Sapnap’s face fell, and Dream’s heart broke just a little more at the thought his being was hurting one of his most loved people.

The silence was deafening as it took all of the blonde’s energy to sit up, and all of the brunette’s to not wail at the sight of his best friend aching so bad. He said nothing as the bed dipped with his weight.

Neither said a word, an inferno of essays escaping through breaths and barely there sniffles. Somehow, through the waves of Dream’s heat, Sapnap could read him like an open book, and for once the blonde was okay with it.

The moment was a long time coming, but that didn’t make it any less terrifying. 

The pair couldn’t recall who lunged forward first, the only thing they remembered was the hands clawing at each other’s backs to find something to hold onto. Dream was crying first, the loud sobs and wails building up over too many years of repressing and fighting them back bubbling over and pouring out onto the person he truly believed to be his brother. Ugly cries of regret and sorrow filled the walls of his bedroom and soft murmurs and hushes fell across his ears. Sapnap’s voice was cracking through every whispered “You’re okay” and “I’ve got you”, and Dream knew he too was one step away from breaking into pieces.

The loud ringing in his ears began to dim as he awkwardly settled in the crook of the shorter’s neck, back hunched awkwardly at the height difference. It didn’t matter to either of them as one of the brunette’s hands found its way through blonde curls, the other rubbing soft circles in his back.

Sniffles and quells began to subside as the unspoken words began to have life breathed into them.

“Sapnap?” 

The shorter hummed, not trusting his weak voice and shaky hands to help.

“I’m sorry.”

The hands on his body stiled, eyebrows knitting together and glancing at the fragile giant on his shoulder.

“What?”

Dream swallowed.

“I’m sorry I’ve been hiding from you. I-I just-”

Beat.

“I don’t know how I can explain any of this without sounding like a complete idiot and asshole.”

Sapnap’s breaths were no longer tear laced, but now deep and continuous. Medium waves calming his fire as the blonde tried to match their inhales and exhales.

“I’m listening, Dream,” Sapnap murmured, keeping his hands rubbing on the taller’s scalp and shoulder, moving so they could face each other and talk. Dream shakily inhaled.

“I think that-”

Why was it so hard to speak? Why couldn’t he say the words? Why couldn’t he just spit them out after years and years of deep down knowing something was so very wrong with what he was calling himse-

“Dream,” Sapnap cut off his thoughts firmly. “It’s just me, man.”

_It’s just him._

It was just the pair, a whirring fan, and a silent room.

Somehow it all seemed fitting.

“I think that I like guys.”

Sapnap’s face relaxed, an internal sigh of relief hidden across his features. Dream felt air fill his lungs and the life begin to swim through him yet again. Golden hues of fire were reachable again, despite the tears still like a permanent stain against his freckles.

“Cool.”

Sapnap smirked at his lackluster response, a watery laugh coming from him as well. Dream’s lips curled into a weak, but just strong enough, smile. Despite everything, Sapnap could always reach him, ground him, bring him away from the intense heat he was and back to warmth.

He’d done so much more than he’d ever know.

Dream’s hands were shaking as the world around him grew to have more clarity. The haziness of light through his tears had began to clear up, and he could notice the shining in his best friend’s own eyes. Dream knew Sapnap was tired, _so_ very tired.

A part of him hated the rollercoaster he had put someone he loved through, either by lashing out in fits of rage that both knew was not about the other, or hiding away in his room like a child to try and ignore and suppress the aching and pain he was feeling. Throughout their decade of friendship, Dream had never talked to him about things like these. Moments when the brunette tried to were shut down by burning and heated remarks, never to be spoken of again.

Especially since George came into the mix. Far too many times had the pair’s jokes gone too far with Sapnap present, leading to many confused texts and pleas to just _talk_ to him if something was wrong. Dream took a short breath as his friend’s hands moved to grip both of his shoulders.

“Sapnap I-”

“I know, Dream.”

Deep down, the blonde knew he knew. But the verbal acknowledgement after years of being shrouded in darkness both felt incredibly heavy and freeingly light. His hands couldn’t stop shaking, the quivers wracking his entire body and reaching his lips.

“And, it’s okay,” Sapnap finished, giving a true smile behind the layer of shine in his brown eyes.

Another round of tears assaulted his vision, teeth biting the inside of his lip as he let everything go. He fell forward into Sapnap’s arms, and yet again his rock was there to anchor his ebb and flow during the immense storm raging through.

For the first time in months, perhaps years, as he sat on his unmade bed, body comically large to be shaking in his much shorter friend’s arms, letting out gross sobs, he felt tranquility.

-

The black blanket wrapped around his shoulders felt like velvet against his puffy cheeks. After a solid half hour of incomprehensible blubbers and babbles, the pair made their way to the couch of their living room, two mugs of instant hot chocolate on the table along with it.

It was the first time Dream had been out of his room and mentally all there in what seemed like ages. Now able to articulate actual words, meaningful conversation could actually take place. The silence resting over the air was comfortable, welcoming, enveloping them in soft warmth. True medium, making the cold cool and the hot warm.

That was what Sapnap was, anyways.

“You were right about everything,” Dream started, the brunette looking up from the mug in his hands. “Every joke too far, everytime I’d talk about him how I do- All of it.”

Sapnap huffed a small laugh.

“You make it pretty damn obvious, dipshit.”

He was able to chuckle at that without the wince he’d normally procur.

“I’m becoming aware of that now,” He responded, gently bringing his mug to his lips. The post-cry glow was setting in among his skin, the world acting like a cloud he was merely floating on through his journeys of love and loss.

Another silence fell over them.

“I feel calm, in a way. Accepting it is miles better than hopeless denial, but-”

There was no way his luck could run so far to snatch up a beautiful angel of a person from across an ocean.

“-there is no way this works out for me the way I want. I feel like we both know that.”

Sapnap remained silent again, before snorting and shaking his head.

“You know, I thought after you finally realized shit you’d become a little smarter, but you’re still a dumbass huh?”

Dream’s eyebrows knitted together, rolling his eyes. He tried to ignore the twinge swirling at his core at the admission George would never truly feel the same love for him as he did. Sapnap could lie over and over again to him, but he knew it was all in a vain to make him feel better. 

“Sapnap, we _both_ know that-”

“ _-We_ don’t know anything. You just are too stubborn to let yourself even consider the possibility you could be happy together.”

Dream took in a breath, and drank in the idea of being able to hold George, to call him his. The icy touch of his frail hands dragging across the burning of his own. It screamed at him to dive into the frozen depths of George, enveloping him wholly in fire. 

Both were too extreme, too dense to be without the other. Perhaps in another lifetime they would meet at equilibrium. Dream would weep and let sorrow consume him once he moved on, but it was a price he would pay to see the only person he ever truly was in love with happy.

“You don’t have to treat me like I’m a kid, we don’t even know if he _likes_ men-”

“-I don’t care! He talks about you like you gave him the fucking stars, you cannot be serious right now.”

The throbbing in his head came back at the forefront at the thought of psychoanalyzing someone aside from himself sent him spinning.

“Can we just-”

Sapnap could sense the tension behind his eyes, backing off instantly.

Dream glanced at the table about to reach for the remote when he noticed the chess oard still out and a small note. Quizzically, he picked it up. 

_why are you always in your room youre such a loser_

_call me soon i want us to play chess bc sapnap is stinky_

_-D_

The blonde ran a hand through his hair and felt guilt tug at him. Not only had he been ignoring his own needs, he was ignoring his family too.

“God, I really do need to text her.”

Sapnap laughed, nudging his side and crawling to the small chair on the other end of the coffee table.

“She’s made me pretty damn good at chess, so I should be thanking your breakdown.”

Dream wheezed out a small laugh, another first of the night. He really did love his sister and how she interacted with his friends.

“Well let’s test her skills then, shall we?”

He smirked.

His eyes were puffy, his body ached, but the fiery heat in him had become warmth. Despite everything, he always had his family, by blood or connection, by his side.

**Author's Note:**

> well, i'm writing a multi-chap now! exciting shit, dude. im very happy with my outline of this story, and i cannot wait to publish more :]
> 
> twt - @/quartzfia
> 
> -fia<33


End file.
